


Ain't No Fabio

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, M/M, POV Stiles, Sassy Derek, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10022840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Stiles only has himself to blame to getting injured in the preserve at night. But to his luck, there are friendly creatures in the woods. Very friendly.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rieraclaelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rieraclaelin/gifts).



> This is a surprise for[ Jessie](http://rieraclaelin.tumblr.com/) for being so goddamn generous and supportive I barely know how to cope. ILU. <3
> 
> Betaed SUPER thoroughly by my amazing bro [Rita](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com/), but I ignored like 90% of her suggested edits, so literally none of this is her fault, all mine. I'm so sorry bro, forgive me. 

Stiles is fucked. He's so very fucked.

 

He was just supposed get a few pictures of the crime scene his dad had been working at lately, just to show Scott, since his asthmatic ass isn't much good for trekking around the woods. Just a few snaps, and he'd back home in time for dinner.

 

Dinnertime has definitely come and gone by now.

 

It's dark and cold, but Stiles doesn't think even broad daylight would have made a difference, since he lost any sense of direction after taking that tumble down the dry creek bed. The edge had crumbled under him, despite looking and feeling solid, and he'd definitely hit his head on something on the way down. But that isn't the worst part at all.

 

Every time he moves even an inch, pain lances up his whole leg from his ankle. He's hoping it's just a really bad sprain, but the pain is enough to almost make him vomit, so he's afraid to even look at it. It doesn't feel like the skin is broken at least, so he's not dying of blood loss. He might die of hypothermia, though.

 

His teeth chatter as he tries to figure out what to do. There's no way he can call for help, because of course his phone had been in his hand when he'd fallen, and by the time he'd come around, his phone was nowhere to be seen. So he can only assume it was knocked out of his hand, and is probably in pieces somewhere.

 

”F-fuck,” he hisses, and pulls his jacket tighter around himself. It's nowhere near enough, and he shivers. It's gonna be a long night. Worse, it could be a few days, because while he's supposed to check in via text at least once a day when his dad is busy with work, a lot of times his dad is so tired and stressed that he simply forgets to check his phone. It's not his fault. He only works so hard to give Stiles the best in life, and also, Stiles would be super hypocritical if he judged other people for forgetting things when any given day starts with him looking for his keys or missing appointments.

 

There's no telling what time it is, but the moon is full and high, providing at least a little bit of light. He's not afraid of the dark, generally, but alone in the woods every rustle of the bushes is nerve-wracking, and he flinches with every scurry of small animals. Fuck nocturnal critters, seriously.

 

He's just feeling proud of himself that he managed to keep calm and not twitch painfully for once, when there's a much more substantial rustle nearby, and the underbrush parts right across from him. Stiles freezes in terror as a massive wolf emerges from the bush, eyes shining strangely blue in the moonlight, advancing on him slowly on silent feet. Pain is screaming from Stiles' ankle as he scurries back against the steep creek wall, trying desperately to get away, and knowing at the same time that he's fucking _dead_. The wolf is absolutely enormous, bigger than any canine Stiles has ever seen. Hell, he's seen _horses_ smaller than this beast.

 

“Oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck,” Stiles whimpers, wishing he could remember if he told his dad he loved him yesterday morning.

 

The wolf stops. It's just standing there, a few feet away, watching him. The waiting is unbearable, Stiles' heart damn near vaulting out of his chest, and he half wishes the monster wolf would just get on with the maiming and killing so he won't drop dead from a heart attack before the main event. Though, come to think of it, that would probably be less painful, so maybe it's a merciful tactic on the wolf's part. He's not so sure he appreciates this kind of effort, however.

 

Several long moments drag by with Stiles gasping in small terrified breaths, bordering on the too familiar lurch of a panic attack, when he slowly realizes that the wolf isn't even growling. Or snarling. Or doing anything threatening at all. It's just... staring.

 

“Are you gonna eat me?” Stiles asks, even though it's pretty pointless. Air locks in his throat, though, when the wolf slowly shakes its head, still staring right at him.

 

“ _What... the hell_.” It comes out silent, because his throat is completely shutting off air supply from sheer shock, and he doesn't manage to get an actual breath in until the wolf makes a sudden and loud snort that makes Stiles jump and gasp, following it up with a wince, because _ow, ankle_.

 

The wolf's massive maw opens and its tongue lolls out, and Stiles gets the distinct notion it's laughing at him. “You asshole,” Stiles hisses, and tries to calm his heart down again, so every beat can stop throbbing through his leg like it's being banged with a huge hammer.

 

He's almost got it when the wolf comes closer. Weird human gestures like head-shaking aside, it's still a massive goddamn predator, and Stiles scrambles away until his back hits the creek wall and he can't get any further. All he can do is sit there and wheeze in small panicked breaths.

 

“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.”

 

Stopping only to give him a brief glance, the wolf advances steadily, until it's close enough to give his ankle a sniff, moving on to his hand next. And then, finally, to Stiles' endless horror, the wolf moves in to sniff under his chin, huffing a foul-smelling breath right across his face. That, combined with the constant pulsing pain, is almost enough to make him puke, and he just barely manages to shove the urge down.

 

“Dude, personal space?” he whimpers, hoping those won't be his last words, but the wolf just huffs and backs up a step. “Uh. Thanks?”

 

Predictably, there's no answer. Just more staring, and eventually Stiles' panic dies down enough for reason to kick in. As much as his personal bubble was just totally invaded, the wolf has at no point seemed hostile in any way. Logic would indicate that it's not about to attack.

 

“Okay, uh... can I, uh. Help you?”

 

The huge muzzle dips down for a feather light touch to his shin which doesn't hurt. What _does_ hurt is how Stiles flinches from the fear that something _might_ touch his ankle. “Ow, _ow_ , yes, I'm hurt, I've noticed, what about it?”

 

The wolf glances from his ankle to his face a few times, and then blatantly breaches his personal space again, sidling up super close, until it's side is flush up against Stiles' shoulder. It's actually really warm, and Stiles can't help but lean into it a little, because he's still fucking freezing.

 

“Well. This is pretty nice, actually,” he says, just as the moon disappears behind a blanket of clouds, and a drop of rain hits him right on the nose. “Aw man, you gotta be kidding me!” he whines, and the wolf squirms next to him. “What?”

 

There's more squirming and more than a little painful jostling, until Stiles can't help but brace himself against the wolf's flank, only to have his hand immediately nudged with an insistent snout, until he's basically hugging a big, wild wolf. Weirdly, it kinda makes him feel a little better. Obviously the healing power of a nice hug is nothing to sneeze at. “Well. I guess being warm and wet is better than being cold and wet,” Stiles muses, but then the wolf takes hold of his sleeve with its teeth, and starts moving forward.

 

“Ow, dude, no, I can't, seriously. Don't you think I would have left this fucking creek if I could walk?”

 

The wolf worms under his arm again, and nudges Stiles in his armpit, pushing up repeatedly.

 

“Ow, what?!” Stiles hisses, rubbing his sore armpit. The wolf bounds off into the bushes and then comes immediately back, squirming under his arm again. “What?” Stiles asks, and one more trip back and forth he gets it. “You... want me to come along?”

 

The wolf actually wags its tail, and Stiles can't help but smile at it, though a little sadly. “Dude, I'd love to, but my ankle.” A few more borderline painful pokes under his elbow, and Stiles finally catches up. “Uhhh. Okay, but dude... please don't kill me if I, like... pull out a chunk of your fur or something.”

 

The wolf waits calmly, so Stiles braces himself against the pain, hooks an arm firmly around the wolf's sturdy shoulders, and heaves himself up with a probably painful grip on its scruff. By the time he's up on one leg he sways back against the creek wall again, feeling raindrops trickle down his collar from the small overhang as he once again fights back the urge to vomit, this time from the pain alone.

 

“Fuck, ow,” he wheezes, and breathes through his nose while he waits for the throbbing to hopefully die down a little, and for the dark spots in front of his eyes to dissipate. The wolf moves a step forward, and only then does Stiles realize he's still clutching at its scruff. “Fuck, sorry,” he hisses, but the wolf just turns its massive head and gives his hand a small lick. He finally manages to let go, and when he feels he can breathe again, he takes a tiny shuffling hop-step forward. He almost topples over, but the wolf is right there, bracing against his hip. It's actually a really strong and sturdy wolf.

 

So sturdy in fact that after a little trial and error, Stiles realizes the wolf is fine with him basically using its shoulder as a crutch, bracing his full weight on it for every small step.

 

It feels like the work of several hours to move the few yards across the creek bed slowly going muddy from the rain, but eventually they make it to the treeline on the other side, and Stiles feels almost like crying when they make it through the thick bushes and he spots the dark opening of a small cave directly ahead. It's slightly underground, and Stiles has to more or less dive into it head first. It's a painful tumble, and he cries out as he makes it to the bottom, but once he's there it's dry and a lot less chilly, and he lets himself just lie there, splayed on his back and gasping for breath for a while.

 

“Fuck. Thanks, dude, you are the best wolf, I swear to god,” Stiles wheezes, and the wolf lies down next to him, all warm and fluffy, like a bro. Stiles could seriously love it. At least until it starts nudging him again. “What?” he asks, and something is dropped on his face. It's slithery and smooth and in the dark of the cave he struggles to figure out what it is. “What the hell?” After a while of turning it over in his hands, he realizes it's a sack from a sleeping bag. Which could mean...

 

The wolf moves further into the cave, and its eyes are still doing that weird blue light thing. Stiles would probably be more freaked out about it if they weren't super useful in feeling his way in further, crawling gingerly along until – miracle of miracles – his fingers make contact with an actual sleeping bag. There's even a bedroll under it.

 

“Thank you baby Jesus,” he gasps, and flops down on it as gingerly as he can, hoping there isn't some poor dead hiker in the cave with him. The bag smells new and clean, though, so he doesn't think so. He's still damp from the rain, but it's now noticeably warmer in here, and at some point when he feels like he can move again, he might attempt getting into the sleeping bag, too. But for now he lets himself rest and breathe, and after some rustling around the wolf comes over and plops down next to him, bringing furry heat with it.

 

“Dude, you are the best, oh my god. I know I just said that, but I don't care, it's worth saying twice,” he groans, curling up against the warmth. He could almost sleep if not for his ankle, still hammering with every beat of his heart, thanks to all the jostling, so he whimpers when the wolf nudges him again. “Dude, what?”

 

Something rustles closer and then scrapes against Stiles' scalp. Turns out it's a backpack, and Stiles only has a brief moment of concern over maybe rooting through some dead person's stuff before zipping it open and feeling through the contents. He lets out a small sob of sheer relief when he feels his way to no less than two full water bottles and a handful of some kind of candy bars or power bars. It's food, in any case, so even if it takes a while for him to be found, he at least shouldn't starve.

 

He has a little cry to himself there in the cave, a mix of relief, exhaustion, fear and pain coming to a head, and the wolf licks at his tears until he calms. “Hey,” he croaks, reaching up to pet its massive head. “Thank you. You're the weirdest fucking wolf I've ever seen, but you literally saved my life, dude. So, yeah. Thank you.”

 

The wolf makes a tiny whuffing noise and lies down, head on its paws. Stiles takes it as a sign that it's bedtime, and makes a pillow out of what feels like a shirt from the bag. He drinks a little water and eats a power bar in two bites, before cautiously rolling around until he can unzip the sleeping bag and get himself mostly into it. There doesn't seem to be any point in zipping it closed, especially since his pain-ridden foot is still hanging out, and since there's a deliciously warm wolf there he can snuggle up to. So he does, and within minutes he's out cold.

 

Waking up is a hellish experience, and he groans from the assault of pain he's greeted with as his brain comes back online. His head is throbbing, his whole leg feels both stiff and pained, though at least not throbbing as hard as the night before, and he's just not ready to open his eyes and face it yet. He snuggles up closer to the warm skin in front of him, and rubs his itchy nose against the muscled plane before his brain catches up and he flinches back.

 

“What the hell?!” he cries, scrambling away from what turns out to be a very naked dude, and Stiles gets more than an eyeful as the guy jerks out of sleep and onto all fours in one move, snarling briefly at the cave entrance with actual goddamn _fangs_ in his mouth and bright laser-blue eyes, before he seems to wake up and just... turns back. Like, sucks the damn fangs in like they were never there, and turns off the eyes like a freaking flashlight, his eyes a normal – if somewhat undefinable – color as he turns them on Stiles.

 

Brain damage. Yup, Stiles hit his head, and now he's suffering from some kind of brain damage.

 

“Why are you naked?!” is somehow the first thing he thinks to ask, and the guy blinks in surprise.

 

“That's your first question?”

 

Stiles sits up against the cave wall, clutching the sleeping bag to him like that would somehow protect him from a dude who's at least twice his weight in sheer muscle, and who can also apparently sprout fangs on command. But the guy's voice is soft and surprisingly non-growly, and his calmness helps Stiles ease back off the edge of a panic attack. “Well it was sorta dangling right there, you know,” Stiles argues, and the dude's lip definitely twitches in a small grin. “Shut up, I have brain damage.”

 

There's a tense sort of quiet until the guy sighs and shakes his head. “No. You don't. At least not from the fall.”

 

“Hey!”

 

The dude definitely smiles this time, and he must be magic, because how else could he know that nothing makes Stiles feel more at ease than some nice, pointless bickering?

 

“Pretty sure I'm the normal one between the two of us, buddy,” Stiles says, and has to stare when the guy just nods.

 

“I have no doubt. Mind if I put on some pants?”

 

Some small part of Stiles wants to say _yes_ , just for the hell of it, but those dangly bits are really kind of distracting, and he'd like to be able to focus on figuring out what's going on soon, thanks. “Go for it,” he says instead, and gets the full frontal experience when the guy stands up as much as he can under the low ceiling of the cave, and goes to rummage through the backpack. Stiles at least manages not to stare as the dude hops into a pair of jeans, but as soon as he hears the zipper he's staring again. Not only did the guy manage to worm himself into Stiles' arms during the night like some ninja, he also somehow snuck by the massive wolf who was totally Stiles' new best friend. Also, the guy is _ridiculously_ hot, there's no way Stiles wouldn't be staring in any case.

 

“Okay, so if I don't have brain damage, what the hell is going on? Are you a werewolf or something?”

 

It's mostly meant as a provocation, but sometimes Stiles' brain does this thing where it puts pieces together without even letting him know about it until he opens his mouth and something tumbles out. It's apparently the case here too, since the guy's jaw drops in surprise. “You _know_ about us?!”

 

“ _Us?!_ There are more of you?! Fuck, I was just... you're an actual werewolf? Are you really the wolf from yesterday? Dude... that is _awesome!_ ” Stiles breathes, almost forgetting about his pain in the face of this amazing new development in his life. Werewolves are real, _holy shit_.

 

“Uhm,” the guy says, shifting weirdly on his feet before plopping down to sit on the floor again. “People don't usually take it this well,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Stiles. “Maybe you _do_ have brain damage.”

 

“Shut up, you should just be happy I didn't assume you were some rapist creep taking advantage of a helpless injured person.”

 

“Helpless. Right. I think you pulled out several handfuls of my fur, and you nearly took out my eye with an elbow at one point. I think you'd be okay defending yourself.”

 

This time it's Stiles' turn to narrow his eyes. “You sound like you're praising me, and yet...”

 

The guy huffs around a smile, that fades as soon as it appears. “Seriously, how are you taking it this well?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “An open mind?”

 

“Wish there were more of those out there,” the guy says quietly, and Stiles gets the distinct impression that there's a story there. The bad kind. He's leaning forward to offer some kind of comfort - mostly because it's what you're supposed to do, no matter how shitty you might be at it, when his whole leg gives a him a massive jolt of pain, and he whimpers as he falls back against the wall.

 

The guy looks at his leg in alarm, and twitches towards Stiles like he wants to do something, but his hands drop again. For a moment they just stare at each other while Stiles wheezes through the renewed throbbing, and the guy... the _werewolf_ seems to be considering him as a whole concept.

 

“Can you... if I help you now... would you swear to keep our secret?”

 

“You mean not tell anyone that I was rescued by a freakishly clever wolf and then woke up with a naked dude in my arms who then told me he was a werewolf before whisking me away in his strong, manly arms, riding us both off into the sunset on his mighty steed? Yeah, I'd definitely be considered totally sane,” Stiles snorts.

 

“Well... not sure how manly my arms are,” the guy muses with pursed lips. “And I don't have a horse, but I do have a nice car that could take you to the emergency room. Unless you prefer the sunset,” the guy jokes, and Stiles can feel his jaw drop before he catches it.

 

“Dude... you're playing along with my shit. Most people would've told me to shut up by now!”

 

The guy smirks at him, reaching out with a long arm to snag the backpack closer. “Guess you're not the only one with an open mind,” he says, and pulls out a t-shirt. Stiles is kinda sad to see the abs go.

 

Turns out the werewolf is named Derek. Of all things. _Derek_. Not Alistair or Fabio or anything that would fit a nice fantasy novel plot. But he does carry Stiles out of the preserve in his very manly arms, and Stiles is very secure in his masculinity, okay, he's fine with it. _So very fine_. If he wasn't in so much pain he'd definitely be fluttering his eyelashes or something.

 

Another thing Derek has, apart from the manly arms, is a damn sweet ride. Stiles is almost sad when the trip is over and he has to wave goodbye to the sleek Camaro in favor of a hard bucket seat in the emergency room.

 

Sadly, after that his life goes back to being boring at best and downright uncomfortable most of the time, thanks to the hairline fracture in his ankle and the suspected concussion that keeps him on the couch for several days. Not to mention how much he's grounded. Being only a few months from eighteen doesn't seem to carry much weight when you hobble around on a cast you totally brought on yourself with stupid ideas about breaking into crime scenes.

 

Worst of all, though, is how all the down time gives him way too much room to let his mind run wild. He only has about a million questions about the whole werewolf thing, and the internet sources he can find are either dubious or genuinely terrifying. What he could really use right now is a werewolf to interrogate. Preferably one with a killer jawline and manly arms.

 

As it happens, one such werewolf happens to show up on his doorstep a week later. With flowers.

 

Never let it be said that fantasy novels are completely off the mark; werewolf courting is most definitely a thing.

 

“So why didn't you change back and help me with, like... a voice and opposable thumbs?” Stiles asks, hours later, as Derek hangs out with him on the couch, being very unsubtle about moving closer inch by inch.

 

“Full moon. I could have changed back, if there was a reason pressing enough. But the wolf side tends to feel it can handle things better than the human side when the moon is high, so by wolf logic I was making the right choice,” Derek murmurs, so close already that his nose is an inch at most from Stiles' cheek.

 

“So, wolf-you felt the right choice was to take me back to your love shack and snuggle up, rather than maybe bring me a phone?”

 

Derek shrugs, and stops pretending he isn't blatantly sniffing Stiles. “Like I said: seemed like a good idea at the time.”

 

“Bet you say that to all the cute boys,” Stiles purrs, mostly as a joke, because he's a huge fan of the intimate sniffing, but he's also about as inexperienced as they come with this whole flirting thing, so he's not sure how he's supposed to be playing this.

 

“Only the ones that smell as good as you,” Derek purrs back, and okay, that's definitely some kissing happening to Stiles' throat, and he kinda forgets about the werewolf thing for a while.

 

“You're-” Stiles pants much later into Derek's ear. “You're not just... buttering me up to keep me quiet about the werewolf thing, are you?” he asks, unable to help voicing the doubt creeping slowly to the forefront of his mind, despite all the muscles gently grinding up against his everything, adorably mindful of his leg.

 

Derek gets up on his elbows, hair kinda standing up where Stiles has been running his fingers through it, and glares at him. “You're kind of an idiot, you know that? Are you sure you didn't give yourself some kind of brain damage after all?”

 

“Rude. I have literally no idea what's going on here, what am I supposed to think?”

 

There's a pause, and then Derek looks sheepish, and it's so cute Stiles almost coos out loud. “Sorry. I keep forgetting you don't actually know things. I'm not used to people knowing what I am... and not caring.”

 

And now Stiles just wants to track down whoever made Derek say something like that and then kick them until his other ankle fractures. “Hey, it's cool. Just, uh... kinda dealing with a puny human here. You might need to work on the communication.”

 

Derek gives him another slow kiss, and nods against him so their noses clash softly. “I'll do my best. And to answer your question, no, I'm not buttering you up for your silence. I'm just really into you. I smelled you in the preserve and wanted to keep you. Then you told me my arms were manly and didn't call me a monster. And you waved goodbye to my car. How could I not find that irresistible?”

 

Stiles feels like he'd squirm out of his skin if it wasn't covered so thoroughly by a whole lotta hot dude, but despite the sweet words, there's still that niggle of uncertainty. “Well... first of all, most people tend to find me irritating. And second, you waited a week.”

 

“Didn't wanna look too desperate. And I had to go back to work,” Derek mouths against his lips, making Stiles lose track of what he was saying. “Besides, I think we've established already that I'm not most people?”

 

“O... kay, good point,” Stiles breathes, and lets his eyes fall closed as Derek's teeth scrape down his throat. “Only took you about half an hour to get to this point, though, I think the jig is up now.”

 

Derek laughs hotly against Stiles' collarbone. “But now that I'm sure you want me back I don't care so much.”

 

Stiles would protest, but the boner he's been poking Derek with for the last ten minutes kinda ruins any argument he might think up.

 

“Still gonna grill you on the werewolf thing, though,” he insists. “But like... later. _Wow_.”

 

“Anything you want,” Derek promises, and whatever else happens after that, Stiles definitely can't say his life is boring anymore.

 

End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The ending is rushed, I know, but if I didn't rush it it wouldn't have ever happened, so. Needs must.
> 
> [Feel free to find me on tumblr.](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com/)


End file.
